Why must poets bleed
for the empty ache
of lost love, of lost youth,
the wickedness of death,
the dying pain of time,
and the agony of memories.
My tears are for the weight
of all unending grief,
for the silent inner war,
and for all brutality
of nations and of men.
I weep for the shame,
the endurance of hate,
the frailty of caring.
It is a ripping knife
that tears a heart,
and kills the soul
with no savior to redeem.
Planets whirl, moonbeams fall,
and evil creeps like a maniac
who stalks with hatred.
There is no armor,
the monster comes,
hooded and red eyed
in the terrible night.
Speechless is my pain,
no tongue to speak the loss,
my love, my hope, my faith,
my peace, my soul, my life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellent poem Barry. A poet's grief put into words with great feeling n sensitivity. This is one of my favorite poems from you. Every poet can relate to it.
Thank you Nosheen. I wrote this poem for a friend who was writing a novel about a man whose wife was brutally murdered. The man was a poet and was injured in the attack and rendered mute. I so identified with the character that is was easy for me to write a series of poems for the book that she never finished. The mute poet is the perfect metaphor I think. I believe many poets express themselves much better in writing than in speech.